


no, it's not the last time

by ampxrsand



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Body Worship, Chubby Kink, Dubious Consent, Feeding Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Stuffing, Weight Gain, chubby patrick, feeder!pete, unintentional weight gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ampxrsand/pseuds/ampxrsand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based off a post on patrick-is-trohmosexual on tumblr<br/>anonymous: 'trick cant stand it when people leave uneaten leftovers in the fridge so he eats them himself n pete notices what hes doing so he makes a point of always having a ton of leftovers in the fridge'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> lmao wtf

Pete wakes up at 11:06, a little surprised that Patrick's gone from bed, but not phased as he turns back onto his front and shuts his eyes again. He is _so_ hungover and he wishes Patrick were here to pet his hair and listen to him whimper. Then he thinks he can hear Patrick coming, until he realises that sound is actually his stomach growling. Sighing, he rolls out of bed and pulls on a fresh t-shirt from the closet, no less, and heads to the kitchen holding his head in one hand and his stomach in the other.

He perks up a little when he remembers there's pizza from two nights ago in the fridge, which should still be good. However, when he opens the fridge he finds there's no trace of it. He checks behind all their veggies and cartons but the box with his pizza in it has absolutely gone. He roots around some more, getting more and more frustrated when there are no leftovers at all in the fridge. If he wants to eat, he’s gonna have to make it from scratch which will require far more effort than he is willing to put in. What's worse is when he goes to the cereal cupboard he finds the container he’s certain had his cold pizza in, washed and put back with the others. Still, he takes his bowl next door and is going to ask Patrick if he ate the pizza, but he finds the younger man watching some documentary with a grilled cheese, so he leaves it. Instead, he curls into his soft boyfriend and throws both his legs over one of Patrick’s, chewing in his ear.

Patrick hits him with a sideways glance. “Gross,” he complains, but he doesn’t move, and after he’s finished his sandwich he wraps an arm around Pete.

 

Pete doesn’t think so much of it until the next week, when he finds Patrick in the dining room eating a reheated stir fry along with the biggest glass of water Pete thinks he’s seen. He raises an eyebrow, goes to sit at the table.

“Isn’t that too hot for you?” Pete asks, looking up from his phone to see Patrick gulping down some of the water. It’s weird: he’s transfixed, but then his eyes drop to Patrick’s bobbing throat and plump lips stained pink, and it’s clear. He’s never paid much attention to Patrick eating before, but now that he does he notices that Patrick seems emphasised like this, hot mouth and gorgeous jaw and full stomach. For Pete, it’s like seeing Patrick times two.

“No one was gonna eat it,” Patrick complains, breaking Pete out of his trance. “It was leftover.”

Pete gets him a refill of the water before he finishes the stir fry, and when they go to watch a movie in the living room he has Patrick lie down in front of him so he can get both arms around his boyfriend’s belly, soft as always but taut with the meal when he sinks his fingers into it.

Pete thinks he’s pushing it when he asks Patrick if he wants to order pizza just a few hours later, but he decides on fries and a garlic bread after a second’s hesitation. Pete makes sure he gets himself a large so there’ll be some leftover to put in the fridge.

 

Pete starts to do it without thinking, almost, cooking enough for three so the fridge is always stocked with leftovers. Without fail, Patrick eats them, grabbing them for lunch instead of a sandwich or in the afternoon if they plan on having dinner late. It starts to show, Pete thinks, Patrick’s cutely chubby frame filling out a little more thickly. Pete pays all the more attention to his rounder ass and thighs, kisses and nips at the extra softness under Patrick’s jaw, but it’s his middle that fills out the most. A few weeks later, there are even cute little stretch marks down Patrick’s sides, which Pete kisses and traces with his fingertips. It must tickle, because Patrick giggles. Obviously, Pete’s glad that Patrick’s not self conscious or anything, but he doesn’t seem to be especially self confident either; it’s like he hasn’t noticed. And then Pete realises that Patrick _hasn’t_ noticed, and he becomes determined that he shouldn’t.

 

He first gets a chance to test it out when they go out to eat for Brendon’s birthday. Patrick’s standing in front of the closet in some jeans that were curiously difficult to fasten and an old t-shirt of Pete’s. When Pete comes in, his mouth practically waters at the sight of Patrick’s butt and thighs crammed into his jeans. When he turns to Pete, the movement causes the shirt to stick to his little muffin top, and Pete smirks, even though he’s the one who’d do anything just to look at Patrick right now.

“I don’t know which shirt to pick?” Patrick says, turning back to the closet. “What are you wearing?”

Pete shrugs, goes to wrap his hands around that irresistible waist, soft yet straining against the jeans.

“Have you tried anything on yet?” he asks Patrick, who shakes his head and leans back into Pete’s neck. Pete smells so good, Patrick rotates in his arms to kiss along his jaw.

Pete takes the opportunity to squeeze Patrick’s hips, hands trailing down to cup the taut denim stretched over his ass.

“I bought a new one the other day,” Pete hums. “You can borrow it.”

It’s a size up, as per Pete's plan, but Patrick doesn’t notice as he lets Pete dress him, tucking the shirt in so it’s not so long, and so he can dip his fingers below the waistband of Patrick’s jeans. It’s a little tight, but it looks good, and Patrick looks in the mirror to straighten it and turns back to Pete.

“So, what are you wearing?” He catches Pete’s wrists from where they hover over the shirt and kisses his fingers, draws one into his mouth.

Pete’s a little breathless, cocks an eyebrow. “Do you wanna go, or not?” he laughs, and Patrick moves behind Pete, wraps his arms around Pete’s shoulders.

“You look good in grey,” he suggests, and shuffles in his jeans, fiddling with the waist and looking just a little perplexed.

“I think maybe these shrunk in the wash.”

Pete’s eyes widen and he looks from Patrick’s stomach all the way up to his face.

“Maybe.”

 

At the meal, Pete makes sure to order more than he wants to eat, so he can take it home. To save on cooking tomorrow, obviously. Patrick doesn’t even question it, and neither does anybody else, and the group is so large and noisy that Patrick and Pete hardly get chance to pay attention to one another, despite sitting together. By the time they order dessert, though, Patrick’s jeans are straining more than ever. It doesn’t stop him getting the chocolate torte, rich and creamy and the slice just a little over generous. It’s not like he’s going to leave it, though, when he never lets anyone else leave their food. Pete watches, wants to feed it to him, actually, and – wow, is that new, or not? Either way, he wants Patrick pushed back, the plate resting on his belly, and the spoon in Pete’s own hand. He wants to see Patrick stuffed full and it be all down to him, the chubby man just getting to lie back and enjoy it. And he does look like he’s enjoying the dessert, licking every bit off the spoon with those _lips_. Pete could die, maybe he already has; Patrick catches him staring, meets his eyes with the cake in his mouth.

“Gonna fuck you so hard when we get home,” he whispers harshly into the shell of Patrick’s ear, and the younger man shudders, at the sensation, at the sound, but gets Pete like halfway hard when he doesn’t stop chewing for a second.

 

Pete tosses his arm around Patrick’s shoulders when they get out of the taxi, and holds him in place until the door is locked and he forces him against it. He’s half certain that Patrick’s heavy belly would hold him there, even if Pete’s arm wasn’t, and he gasps, then whines when Patrick’s fingers go to card through his hair.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Pete breathes into his neck, unfastening the top buttons of Patrick’s restricting shirt before his hands go back to Patrick’s ass and he slides his tongue into Patrick’s mouth.

“You taste like chocolate,” he says frankly when they break apart, and Patrick stutters a laugh. Pete leans back in to kiss again, but Patrick’s breaths are still shaky.

He leans back. “Baby, go upstairs and get ready, yeah, I’ll be up in one minute.” He squeezes Patrick’s curvy ass again and watches him head for the stairs, then dumps his jacket on the hook and goes to put the leftover food in the fridge. Briefly, he wonders about taking something upstairs with him, but he just closes the fridge door and leaves his shoes in the kitchen, fumbling to unbutton his shirt as he hurries up the stairs.

Patrick’s in his boxers on the bed, rooting around for the lube in the cupboard. Pete leaves his shirt on but pulls off his jeans, coming up behind Patrick to pull him properly onto the bed. He lies back in the centre, and Pete swears he looks like some ancient queen. They need more tapestries on the wall, candlelight.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says again, and Patrick lets his mouth fall open as Pete slides off his boxers, feeling down the skin from his hips to his ankles. There are practically gouges where Patrick’s clothes have been cutting into his stomach, and Pete leans down to kiss along the lines, making a mental note to get the boy some decent jeans. He takes his mouth further down, but then back up, straddling Patrick’s distended belly and slipping his tongue past the other’s teeth.

“You have a good night?” Pete asks, drunk on the feel of Patrick’s soft skin beneath him. The younger nods, dozy, but wakes up when Pete bites down on his lip.

“You look good,” Pete says raggedly, his hand stroking Patrick’s ear and mussing the hair behind it, before he leans up to bite it and gets back down. He goes for Patrick’s nipples next, already oversensitive, and Patrick starts to scratch along his back, whining as he does.

Pete licks hotly rather than sucks, pressing his hands into Patrick’s full stomach the whole time. He traces the raw red marks he can feel, moving his hands around and pushing through the soft give as far as he can until Patrick whimpers and he stops abruptly.

Patrick fumbles for the lube and passes it to him, Pete applying it to his fingers first, batting Patrick’s out of the way. He gets him to open his legs, and uses his one free hand to trace the fuzz on Patrick’s belly, nearing but refusing to touch his dick.

He adds a third finger before long, Patrick hissing but grinding down on it, and Pete wants him to ride him almost as much as he wants to slam Patrick into the mattress. Next time.

Patrick clamps down his teeth on his bottom lip to prevent him from telling Pete he's ready, already, but Pete gets the hint. He lubes himself up and pulls out, sharp, kissing Patrick's thigh with a little too much teeth as he slides in. He waits agonisingly long, nipping at the sore flesh of Patrick's belly and wonders if the other man really hasn't noticed how much he's filled out yet. Pete doesn't care either way, doesn't mind Patrick either way, but with Patrick's stuffed belly jiggling in front of him his eyes just about roll the whole way back into his head.

He makes Patrick tell him to start, and quickly works up a ceaseless rhythm, slamming Patrick to make his belly jiggle, pulling his knees up so his thighs do the same. Fingers still dripping, he jacks Patrick just as quickly, reaching out one hand to flick over Patrick's nipple at the same time. Patrick's fists are in the sheets, clenching tighter and tighter but quivering, until Pete orders him to shove them under the pillows. He rests them behind his head, knocking his knees into Pete's sides just to be able to move. There's a cold sweat on Patrick's forehead, and when Pete twists Patrick's nipple in his fingers Patrick moves one hand to rest on his pudgy belly. Pete squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them and slaps at the underside to see it shake. At that, he thrusts in even harder and they cum almost together, Pete inside Patrick since he wants to fill him up even more, and Patrick all over his own belly, the white lines contrasting the pink marks already decorating it.

They pant together, and Pete pulls out, falling on top of Patrick's squishy frame. His hands go to Patrick's chubby cheeks, and he sticks his thumb in Patrick's mouth, which Patrick bites and sucks obediently. Patrick whines as Pete rolls off him and leans against his thick side, brushing some of Patrick's own come onto his finger and putting it to his lips. Again, Patrick sucks it obediently, and Pete buries his head in Patrick's chest.

Pete strokes one hand over Patrick's messy middle, and the younger man moans a little.

"I'm kind of full from dinner," he says, voice cracking, and Pete would jack himself if it were ten minutes before or after now. He just settles, nuzzling Patrick's chest, hand massaging the tightness underneath Patrick's chub.

"That's nice," Patrick breathes, and then, "We should clean up." But it's Pete who eventually moves, and Patrick is already asleep when he's finished wiping the mess up, turning cutely on his side so Pete can curl behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Pete’s at some, like, event: Patrick’s not sure, he was still asleep when Pete kissed him goodbye, and he’s still a little sleepy now – he only got up to see to his rumbling stomach. He really wants a burger, but he definitely doesn’t want to go out, and not on his own, so he roots around the kitchen and eventually manages to find the right ingredients. He’s literally _starving_ , like what the fuck, and he can’t help snacking on a muffin – which he doesn’t remember buying – while he waits for his food to cook. His stomach’s still rumbling when the timer goes off; in his rush to take out the food, add the cheese and salad to the bun, and put the stuff back in the fridge, he almost doesn’t see what’s in the fridge. But with a second glance his eyes fall on the containers from Brendon’s birthday, the leftovers. His shoulders slump, and he whines. He just doesn’t know if they’ll still be good tomorrow. If Pete was going to eat them – he would’ve, already. Sighing, he picks up the containers as well as his plate with the burgers on and goes to sit in the living room. Pete left the TV on the news channel, and Patrick switches it to a documentary and settles down with his lunch.

He eats the burgers fairly quickly – he’s hungry, and he’s only just starting to get full when the two big burgers are gone. Looking at Pete’s leftovers, he’s not sure whether to reheat them or not, but the paella looks so good that he just picks up his fork and starts eating. It’s good; he almost wishes he’d ordered it himself when they ate out, but he’s not really thinking about that now, just half concentrating on the programme about marine life and scooping the rice into his mouth. Despite that his pyjamas are starting to feel tight, he doesn’t hesitate picking up the next two containers from the restaurant: the first one he opens has shredded steak with tomato sauce which Patrick doesn’t expect to be that nice cold, but it tastes good enough and is still succulent. In fact, the more he eats, the more he wants, and before he looks back down to the food, he sticks his fork in and it’s all gone. Mindlessly, he picks up the garlicy pasta from the next container and sticks in his fork, eyes half lidded as he stuffs himself even more, finding it a little hard to stay awake just to chew and swallow. But the food all tastes so good, and he can’t think of wasting it, not when it’s perfectly good and so delicious. Really, he doesn’t know why Pete didn’t eat it all at the restaurant. Even as he starts to feel a little sick, he’s disappointed when he hears his fork hit the bottom of the container meaning he’s now eaten all of the fourth filling dish.

It’s not that he’s noticed how his t-shirt has ridden up his bloated stomach, but Patrick does contemplate leaving the last container where it is on the coffee table. He’s drowsy, and he’ll admit he feels a little full. So he decides to check what’s inside, and unless he actually wants it he’ll leave it for later or get Pete to have it or something. He just _hates_ to leave leftovers. But when he glances what’s left for dessert, he keeps hold of it, leaning back into the arm of the sofa so he can stretch out and rest the cake on his stomach, which has recently become an excellent table. By now he’s not focussing on the the TV at all, just concentrating on the rich and sweet and tangy taste as he licks the cake off his fingers, not bothering with cutlery anymore. It’s refreshing after everything else he’s eaten, his heavy belly welcoming it...almost. The citrus flavour even wakes him up a little, but he’s not alert enough to hear Pete come in.

Pete finds his boyfriend with his head propped up on the cushioned arm of the couch, laid out with a box of cake resting on his huge belly. He swallows, thick; he can see even from the corner of the room how distended Patrick’s already thick stomach now is. For once, his mouth dries out as he gets hard, biting down on his lip to stop from moaning as his eyes finally come reluctantly away from the sight of Patrick stuffed fat and _still eating_ on the sofa and he sees what Patrick must have demolished already. He must have eaten twice what he did at the restaurant; Pete sees he’s still in his pyjamas, and is certain that if he’d been wearing jeans the button would have blown off ages before now.

Breathing as deep as he can and wetting his lips, Pete walks over to the sofa and places his bag on the coffee table, finally coming into Patrick’s view. The other man stiffens, a handful of cake hesitating in the air as he rushes to swallow his current mouthful quickly. He shuffles more upright, looking down at the cake and realising just how big the slice was, just how much he’s therefore eaten, and – that his whole creamy and huge stomach is now on display as his t-shirt has ridden up and is straining against his chub well above his belly button.

A warm hand is on his, pushing it to his lips. Naturally, Patrick opens his mouth and takes the food, chewing thoroughly because it just tastes so good, but not meeting Pete’s eyes. He lets the hand that was steadying the container resting on top of his bloated stomach slip down over his skin, and he almost moans at the contact when he realises how taut his skin is. Frankly, it’s a wonder he hasn’t burst. He really wasn’t expecting Pete home yet; has he been eating all afternoon? The other hand that Pete guided to his mouth is still lingering by his lips after he’s swallowed, so Pete breaks off another bite of cake and holds it expectantly to Patrick’s mouth.

“Don’t stop on account of me,” Pete whispers, almost reverently, but Patrick is past perceiving anything like that, engulfed in embarrassment. He really, probably shouldn’t have done this. He already knew he was a little chubby to begin with.

Sensing Patrick’s distantness, Pete picks up the cake and moves to straddle Patrick’s squishy thighs, relieved part of his body is still soft when his own hand joins Patrick’s on his engorged, tight stomach. It must kill.

“Good boy,” Pete breathes without thinking, and maybe Patrick doesn’t even hear. “So good for me.”

Patrick swallows thickly, trying to adjust himself, and Pete takes it as a request for more food which he gladly provides. Now, one hand delivers the cake from where it still sits on Patrick’s round belly, and the other rubs tiny, faint circles across his straining side. Patrick wants to whimper, but more than that he wants to keep quiet, so he just lies as still as he can and opens his mouth whenever Pete arrives with some more cake.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel too long to Patrick before the rest of the cake has gone, but then again he did put away the other platefuls absentmindedly. Pete discards the box, moving both hands to massage his boyfriend’s over indulged frame. When he pushes too hard, Patrick groans, and Pete’s heart speeds up with his question on the tip of his tongue.

“I’d brought you something,” he tells Patrick with wide eyes, voice soft and low. “You wanna see?” Patrick nods, and Pete tries not to focus too much on his double chin, but still can’t resist squeezing Patrick’s chubby face.

It’s cake. Just one slice, from a music video Pete was on the set of today; everyone got to take a slice of it home, and Pete’s is obviously for Patrick. His intentions weren’t that evil; even if he’d ordered extra in the restaurant for Patrick to eat, he’d never expected to come home to this.

Pete tells him as much, at least most of it, leaving out the part where he ensures the house is always stocked with leftovers for Patrick to fill out with, and Patrick whines softly. Pete’s calloused hands massage the exposed skin, dipping to where Patrick’s pyjama pants are digging in, where the chub is still soft.

“I think you’ve got some room,” he says, not even joking. “If you don’t want it though, I can always throw it out; it’s leftover anyway.” 

Pete has a sneaking suspicion that that might be the keyword. Something works, anyway, because Patrick perks up as much as he can and nods ever so slightly.

Pete cups Patrick’s chubby cheek. “Good boy, baby.”

It’s in a little cardboard take out box; the slice isn’t huge but it’s not like he could ask for a bigger one like _I wanna feed it to Patrick, I’ve recently noticed I like to watch him eat_ but given what Patrick’s already eaten today Pete can hardly believe he agreed to have any. He doesn’t waste his time, breaking off a piece of the sponge, glad it’s not dry or crumbly because it’s not like he wants Patrick to choke. At least, not on cake crumbs. He uses the buttercream in the middle as an interlude, letting Patrick suck it off his fingers. Pete would love right now if Patrick was sitting on his knee eating – he even wonders how far Patrick’s belly would stretch over Pete’s lap – but Patrick looks so drowsy and uncomfortable that he doesn’t want to make him move. Plus, he’s not sure how good Patrick would be at staying upright right now. He feeds him the rest of the slice, consciously providing mouthfuls before Patrick has finished chewing and swallowed so he can stuff Patrick with the cake as quickly as possible. When Patrick’s licked the very last of the frosting off Pete’s hand, Pete pops the strawberry from on top into his mouth and puts two fingers under his chin to close his lips around it and make sure he chews it.

Patrick’s still chewing when Pete leans down to kiss him, and he feels Patrick swallow before he opens his mouth to let Pete’s tongue in. He grinds down as lightly as he possibly could onto Patrick’s stuffed stomach, but all he’s met with is an ‘oof’ sound so he curbs his interest as much as he can and settles for just kissing, his hands sinking into Patrick’s soft chest when he presses more of his weight on it.

Patrick’s kissing becomes a little less passionate and Pete can feel how tired he is; but he at least wants to see how full Patrick’s belly really is right now. It must stick out a foot if not more; he wants to see it bare and he wants to see it straining beneath Patrick’s t-shirt. He slides off his boyfriend and stands back up, holding out two hands to Patrick.

“Baby, let’s go upstairs so you can sleep,” he hums, and Patrick looks down himself, tries in vain to pull down his shirt a little. It looks like a crop top at the moment, his chest not tight in the shirt but still visibly soft. Pete wants to put him in a smaller one, see that.

“Can’t I just...stay here?”

“It’s bad for your back, baby. Besides, if we go upstairs I’ll rub your belly for you, yeah? It doesn’t hurt a little?”

Patrick sighs at that, and turns a little, wincing at the movement. All the food he ate was so stodgy and flavourful: he wishes he’d had ice cream or something instead of all that cake. Meanwhile, Pete’s thinking if Patrick can eat all that food and so much cake he could probably easily eat a whole cake on his own. Still, it might be a little difficult to pass off an entire cake as leftovers Patrick can eat without stopping.

Pete links his fingers with Patrick’s and pulls him off the sofa, cock stiffening again at the weight of him. He’s not even huge; just chunky, and stuffed so full right now. Pete can go for either, but he’s not complaining at the sight of Patrick’s big distended belly. He can’t resist touching it, and disguises this by slipping his arm around Patrick’s exposed waist, hanging on tightly to feel all the supple flesh. He’s been going to the gym a lot more, and he wonders if he could still pick Patrick up, but he doesn’t want to not be able to so he just settles for guiding Patrick slowly up the stairs.

When they get to their bedroom, Pete stops in the doorway so Patrick does too, and Pete walks from behind Patrick to in front of him, as subtly as he can manage taking in the bulge of Patrick’s middle. Once he’s standing in front of him, he grabs the t-shirt by the hem and stretches it over Patrick’s thick belly. He gets it a little past Patrick’s belly button but it’s unbelievably tight. Pete’s pretty certain he’ll nut if it rips.

To Patrick’s surprise, Pete sits upright against the centre of the headboard and pulls Patrick on top of him, relishing the weight on his lap and wrapping his arms around Patrick’s stuffed tummy, starting to rub more circles into the part that’s still uncovered. Patrick’s breathing gets slow and Pete can hear his stomach gurgle as it digests. After a while, Patrick moves more onto Pete’s right thigh, resting his head between Pete’s chest and chin. Pete’s hands start kneading a little deeper, and he can feel the difference he’s making. He massages Patrick to sleep and keeps rubbing after that, falling asleep himself when he feels the last of the tightness in Patrick’s belly gone.

 

Patrick never brings it up, but he doesn’t stop overeating and he lets Pete feed him ice cream and chocolates and pasta until his stomach pushes down the fly of his jeans, and Pete kisses his chubbier waist, and wraps his arms around it whatever chance he gets, and never stops paying attention to his thick thighs and ass and upper arms. The younger man has really filled out now, but he never goes to get new clothes because Pete keeps replacing his wardrobe item by item with clothes that are a little bigger and even buys a few new pairs of jeans as he doesn’t see the point in Patrick being uncomfortable. He thinks the days of Patrick’s chafed waist being attributed to the washing machine are over, to be honest.  
However, one night Pete’s reading in bed waiting for Patrick to come out of the shower, which he does a few minutes later in boxers that fit okay and a shirt that mostly doesn’t. He flops down on his belly next to Pete, only to roll over onto his side when it turns out his belly is too big to lie on top of. He narrows his eyes and tries to roll back over, Pete watching him now, a little bemused. Patrick huffs and tries unsuccessfully one last time.

“Pete, there is something wrong with the mattress.”

Patrick really can’t lie down on his belly like he wants to; he keeps rolling over, and Pete’s a moment away from laughing when Patrick stands up and tries the bottom of the bed instead, this time flopping down as hard as he can, determined to show the mattress what’s what.

Only it doesn’t exactly work out for him, because he just bounces and falls right off, hitting the soft carpet with a thud, followed by another of his now classic ‘oof’s. To be fair, Pete doesn’t start laughing until after he knows Patrick’s okay. He offers Patrick a hand up and helps pull him back onto the bed, lying down quickly so he can drag the younger man to lie on top of him. He wraps his arms around Patrick’s belly and strokes down his spine.

Patrick wonders if he’s not a little...further away from Pete than he might expect, and turns his head over his shoulder to look at himself. He bites his lip, thinking now that his ass looks kind of big. He shifts off Pete, and Pete lets him, to lie on his side and look at his belly. He’s definitely gained weight, what the fuck? His shirt is even too small!

“Okay over there?” Pete asks fondly, budging closer to wrap his arm around Patrick again. There’s nothing he prefers to having Patrick pressed up against him, especially now he’s softer.

“Do you think I’ve gained weight?” Patrick asks, and Pete splutters. He’d been certain that Patrick was well aware by now, even during the performance he’d just witnessed.

“Well, yeah, cutie,” he says quietly, not seeing the point in being dishonest. “You didn't notice?”

Patrick shakes his head a little forlornly. “You never told me.”

Pete just shrugs, pulling Patrick tighter against him, his stomach bumping against Pete’s abs.

“I thought you knew, baby, I don’t know. It’s no big deal.”

Patrick starts to look upset, though, so Pete snakes his hand round to squeeze a handful of Patrick’s ass. “I love it,” he says boldly, even if his voice is quiet. “You look really good.”

Patrick swallows and is quiet for a while, Pete nuzzling innocently at his ear and down his soft jawline. Eventually, he huffs, and says, “Well, whatever. I think that there’s something weird about the mattress though. It’s too bouncy or something.”

Pete smirks into Patrick’s neck. He smells good, and Pete breathes in deeply before he answers.

“Maybe we have too much sex on it or something,” he considers, and Patrick glares at him so hard Pete can feel it and has to look up. Pete just smirks again, kissing Patrick’s bottom lip and leaning over him to meet his eyes. “If it gets broken in any way, we can definitely buy a new one you like better.”

Patrick does really grind quite far down into the mattress when Pete nips with his fingers at his large stomach, and when they fuck, Pete manages to hold him down hard enough that he gets to lie on his belly after all.


End file.
